The Mercy of Men
by ellehir
Summary: 'The young dwarf prince took work where he could find it, labouring in the villages of Men.' And some men may have ulterior motives! My take on what could have happened if fate had been even less kind to the heirs of Durin. *Please note the change in rating!
1. Chapter 1: Preface

'_The young dwarf prince took work where he could find it, labouring in the villages of Men_.'

Gold was not the only thing lost on the day Smaug took up residence in the mountain kingdom of Erebor. The beast had stolen from them their livelihood, the very essence their existence. Their survival depended on their ability to adapt to a world considered far inferior to their own. The skills of a master craftsman dwarf are reduced to uselessness in the villages of Men with their rudimentary machinery and base ambitions. Others made use of their skills as warriors – offering themselves as an escort for merchants' convoys travelling through the Blue Mountains for delivery to the surrounding towns and villages of Men and hobbits.

It was indignant to the previously revered race of noble dwarves of Erebor to be reduced to common day labourers and mercenaries, but even a prince needed food and shelter – things not easy to come by in the unfriendly and distrusting communities in the North. It was not a rare occurrence to hear of a former dwarf lord begging for work on the roads leading to farms in the countryside. Dwarf women sometimes took up work in the kitchens and gardens of the rich, some rendered widows by the siege of Erebor. Some even resorted to selling themselves to the men of the villages for a night – anything to earn a few coins to spend on their dwarflings which were never too far behind, and could often be seen sauntering through the garbage heaps outside the villages.

As the years passed and the great halls of Erebor were almost completely faded from the memories of those who once lavished in its riches, dwarf kinships separated, hopefully seeking employment in other parts of the land. This time arrived even for the former prince of Erebor and his kin. Thorin Oakenshield and his nephews had just been informed that their services as guardsmen to the some spice traders of Bree-land were no longer required and hence they had set off to the village of Bree to seek other means of occupation.

Bree was a hostile, lawless place; its residents mainly consisted of small-scale traders and it was well known to be a foot hole for illegal activity. Even as Thorin, Fíli and Kíli entered its gates at midmorning, they witnessed an old man driving a cart being robbed of some of his vegetable produce and no-one except the old man even uttered a word in protest.

"Stay close," Thorin whispered to his nephews walking at his side, "And keep your wits about you."

Fíli and Kíli nodded, continuing their brisk pace aside their uncle down the main street of Bree. Even though Bree was a multiracial village consisting of men, hobbits, and as of a more recent time some dwarves, the company of three still received a few interested glances. As they passed a tavern indicated as _The Prancing Pony_, they spotted a dwarf woman slouching in an alleyway with her shawl draped over her bare shoulders, occasionally meeting the eyes of men but instantly averting her gaze as Thorin and his nephews passed.

Even after all these years of suffering this indignity, Fíli could still see the way his uncle winced inwardly at the sight of his people being reduced to the scum of the earth. They reached the caravans of Bree just in time see a convoy carrying hay and barley leave through the traders' gate. A terrible stench of animal waste, rotting fruit and bad company polluted the air.

"Disgusting place," Thorin spat, looking on as a screeching pig was pushed into a too-small crate and loaded into a dilapidated caravan. Another convoy appeared to be preparing to leave and at Thorin's bidding Fíli approached the driver with as much confidence as he could muster, "Pardon me, sir. We are dwarves of the Blue Mountains offering service as escort through the mountain ranges."

The driver didn't even seem to take notice of the dwarf and simply turned around and disappeared into a nearby building, shouting some obscenities. Fíli shrugged and continued to the next caravan. Thorin and Kíli remained at the sidelines, leaving the task of business negotiation to Fíli who possessed the best arbitration skills by far.

After some time, Fíli returned wearing a dispirited expression, "None, not even at a reduced price." Both the others sighed their frustration: the service of three warriors of noble blood not even worth a moment of these simple traders' time.

"We could continue on to the farmlands," Kíli suggested "It is harvest season for barley and they will most probably take on a few extra hands."

Thorin shook his head, "It is still only temporary. We will need something more permanent if we are going to survive staying in these parts throughout winter."

A sharp whistle interrupted the conversation: a man amongst the caravans was waving Fíli over. After a brief discussion, Fíli returned looking at least somewhat hopeful.

"He says he can use one of us to guard his shipment of pelts from here to the Shire; he is leaving this afternoon" Fíli said, pointing over at a small but stacked cart standing near the gate of the trading post.

"Only one?" Kíli asked, "And three silvers isn't much for a two week journey."

"He says that on return to Bree he will be leaving with a large caravan of goods to trade with our kin in the Iron Hills. He will then be able to afford all three of us at a reasonable fee," Fíli continued, looking at Thorin expectantly.

After a moment of quiet deliberation, Thorin answered, "If we can reach the Iron Hills before winter we may be able find work amongst our own."

"But we can't afford to wait for two weeks – we have enough coin to survive for maybe a week, if not less," Kíli added. "We will need to find other work in the meantime."

"Don't know if you noticed, but work isn't exactly offered in abundance at the moment!" Fíli snapped.

"Enough!" Thorin interjected. "Kíli's right. We will seek employment in the farmlands until the caravan leaves for the Iron Hills."

"The trader emphasized that he would be leaving again as soon as he returns from the Shire and that he cannot tally even for a moment to wait for us," Fíli said, addressing his uncle, "Thorin, you must accompany the trader to the Shire. Kíli and I will seek work in the farmlands until you return. Between the three of us we should have enough coin for the journey to the Iron Hills."

Thorin shook his head. "No, I won't leave you two here amongst these unsavoury people," Thorin said eyeing the passing villagers with suspicion.

"We can surely survive two weeks without your protection," Fíli reasoned, "We have been here the whole day and this is the best opportunity we have gotten."

Thorin seemed lost in thought for a while, trudging around the mud and finally letting out a sigh of resignation. "Alright, but you stay out of the village as much as you can. There are plenty of men here eager to pick a fight with a dwarf." His nephews nodded. "Leave word at the _Prancing Pony_ of where you will be staying. As soon as I return, I send for you and you can catch up."

It was after this decision that Fíli made arrangements with the trader leaving for the Shire and then the company retired to an inn for the night. With first morning light, Thorin left for the trading post and the two brothers started down the dirt path leading to the farms outside of Bree.

-000-

Kerán was a vegetable farmer living outside of Bree. The season for harvesting summer vegetables was now over and he had to rely on other income to carry him through the cold winter months until the next harvest. Amongst some evergreen trees on his lands, just beyond his pig sties, was a small stone hovel - inside a large dusty forge and an anvil stood beneath a layer of ash and dust. Beside the anvil was a crooked wooden table and underneath it lies the still articulated skeleton of a creature smaller than human, yet larger than a hobbit.

TBC


	2. Chapter 2: Reckless

The autumn morning had become pleasantly warm by the time the brothers had passed the first couple of farms on the road out of Bree. None so far could offer them employment for the time being and at least some of the farmers looked genuinely regretful for sending them away. Further down the road the distances between farms were increasing and the path had forked several times, leading to the lands in between and beyond the surrounding hills.

Most of the farms they had encountered had been small, humble operations but a long way down a particularly rough path had led them to the gates of what appeared to be a large estate. Though the ornate stone arches were now almost in ruin, they told the story of a thriving industry many years ago. Now the rusty gates had fallen from the hinges and were propped up against the arches. The path curving towards the cluster of pine trees in the distance was paved with smooth cobblestones and both dwarves noticed by the state of the fields that harvesting and reaping had already taken place. Nevertheless, they continued down the path and it was not long before a large russet red roof could be seen looming amongst the trees – the farmhouse appeared to be much larger than others they had encountered, being a double storey built with a creamy coloured stone and with arches of the same design as the ones at the gate framing the windows and doorways. Yet, the whole place seemed derelict, run-down and somewhat depressing.

The dwarves halted in front of the lofty porch, and after a quick mutual nod, started up the steps leading towards the front door of the farmhouse. But before either could reach the top, a loud voice suddenly spoke from below, "Oi!". Whipping around, they could see that the voice belonged to a man – a farmer as evident by his apparel – carrying an armful of kindling and a hostile expression. "What brings you here, trespassing on my property?"

It took a moment for Fíli to gather his thoughts and phrase them in a diplomatic way, "Good day, sir!" he greeted the farmer politely, raising his hand away from the hilt of his sword, showing that the meant no harm. "We come here seeking work in the farmlands. Temporarily," he added, "until we leave to join our kin in the south." Fíli felt his brother turn to stand next to him, probably at the ready to draw an arrow should the conversation turn violent.

To their relief, the farmer's glare softened and he bent down to place the wood on the ground, straightening up wearing a tired smile, "I see," he said, raising an eyebrow. "Say, where are you from?" he asked, taking a few slow steps closer.

"We come from the Blue Mountains," was Fíli's simple answer. He didn't want to give the farmer any unnecessary detail. To him they were simple dwarves and for their own safety's sake, he wanted to keep it that way.

The farmer wiped the sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand, lifting one foot onto the bottom step and placing his hands on his hips, seemingly studying the two dwarves in front of him. A part of Fíli's mind noticed that whilst the farmer had studied him with cool calculation, something in the farmer's eyes changed slightly whilst looking at Kíli – perhaps lingering for just a heartbeat longer.

The farmer let out a deep sigh, "Well then, let's go inside then. Shall we?" he motioned with his hand towards the door. The bothers stepped aside as the farmer ascended the flight of steps and then proceeded to follow the farmer to the farmhouse door which he opened, gesturing the dwarves inside. Just before entering, Kíli raised his eyes to give Fíli a questioning look to which Fíli replied with a barely discernible nod; the farmer didn't seem to pose a threat, at least not in temperament, and if he should then they are well equipped to defend themselves.

Once inside, they found themselves inside a large kitchen, even by man's standards. A large, heavy wooden table stood in the centre of the room, bearing crates of various vegetables and a basket of bread. A carving block stood on one side along with a knife and thick slices of cheese. The entire room was bathed in the warm glow from the hearth upon which stood a large pot, bubbling merrily.

"Help yourself," the farmer prompted. As a rule, no dwarf ever passes up the opportunity to have a go at food. Kíli had already grabbed a carrot from one of the crates, munching on it as he took a seat at the table, pulling over the carving block with the cheese. Fíli deliberated just a moment before joining him, offering the farmer a nod of thanks before helping himself to some bread and cheese. It wasn't like they ever had to go hungry, even whilst on the road – there had always been enough to go around – and Thorin had always made sure that his nephews were well clothed and fed. But there was no question that it was nice to have some food not bought from the greasy food stalls in Bree.

Moving over to inspect the contents of the pot, the farmer used a wooden spoon to stir it around a bit before turning his attention back to the dwarves. "My name is Kerán," he said, pulling out the chair to sit down at the head of the table. "And these are my lands."

The farmer was about middle-aged, Fíli noticed. Yet he appeared fit and strong, with broad shoulders. His shoulder-length unkempt hair was partly tied behind his head and he had strong facial features, but no characteristics so pronounced that it would make him stand out in a crowd.

Fíli, who had seated himself on the other side of Kíli, introduced both him and his brother. Kíli raised a hand in acknowledgement, smiling whilst chewing a mouthful of cheese.

"Kíli…" The farmer – Kerán, that is – tested the name on his tongue. "Kíli and … Fíli. Interesting names. Are you travelling alone?"

"No. Our uncle will be travelling with us," Fíli answered, digging into the cheese sandwich he had made himself.

"And is he waiting for you back in the village?" Kerán asked, watching Kíli eat, bemusedly.

"We are meeting up with him there in two weeks time," Kíli replied, reaching over to pull another carrot from the crate.

"So you are planning to wait for him here until he comes back?"

The question had a rather obvious answer, but Fíli replied anyway. "Yes. We are quite good at a lot of tasks. I'm quite good at fixing things and Kíli here is an excellent shot. If you have some wild game around or…" It was clear that there was no more harvesting to be done on this farm, yet Fíli did not want to give the impression that they simply wanted to take advantage of the farmer's hospitality.

Abruptly, Kerán changed the topic. "How about I make you some tea?" he asked, scooting his chair back and leaning over to reach the kettle on the counter behind him.

"Ah, no. If you don't mind," Kíli said through a mouthful of carrot, "Something nice and cold will be good." Fíli nodded, he himself had never liked tea and would definitely not choose to drink it on such a warm day.

For a moment, the farmer looked somewhat confused, as if not quite expecting his offer of tea to be rejected. "Uh, yes, I have some…" he stood up and walked over to the cabinet next to the basin, "…some mead, I think…ah, here it is!"

After pulling two cups from the same cabinet, he placed them and the mead flask onto the table. Kíli eagerly poured himself a cup, before handing Fíli the flask.

Leaning forward on his elbow towards Kíli, Kerán asked, "So, you are an archer? I was quite good at it in my time - won first prize at the fair for many years."

"I use a sword too," Kíli added. "But I would pick a bow above the largest of swords, anyday!" Thus began a lively conversation about the efficacy of a bow in battle and when hunting, with Fíli frequently interjecting to advocate the value of a blade. After a short while, the conversation grew more animated, probably as a result of the mead, and lasted a good couple of hours.

It was obvious that Kerán was enamoured with Kíli by the way he paid most of his attention to the younger dwarf during the conversation, always agreeing enthusiastically at whatever Kíli was rambling on about. Fíli had gotten use to this over the years – Kíli was indeed very charismatic and would often use it to his advantage when it suited him. Fíli, being the more responsible one, often had to keep a more serious attitude about him. But sitting there in the kitchen, amidst his brother and the kind farmer, eating, laughing and drinking, he felt truly relaxed for the first time since leaving his home in the Blue Mountains at the beginning of the spring.

Upon Kerán's insistence, they agreed that they would be staying with the farmer until they had to go meet their uncle in Bree. They had the stew Kerán had been preparing on the hearth for dinner and moved the conversation to the sitting room, which was well-furnished with armchairs and had thick fur carpets. Pelts and pictures decorated the walls and Fíli noticed a beautifully drawn portrait of a young woman with long hair and kind eyes.

"My wife," the farmer had told him upon his inquiry. "She died in childbirth almost ten years ago," he had added sadly before averting his gaze quickly and then taking Kíli up on some or other joke about dwarves' fighting skills.

It was well into the night, sitting near the crackling fireplace when Kerán returned from the kitchen with two cups of tea, which he handed to each dwarf in turn, babbling about how cold the night can get out there on the open farmlands.

Whilst Kíli sipped at the tea as the night drew on, Fíli could not bring himself to drink the over sweetened greenish liquid and set the cup aside after only a small taste. He didn't want to insult their host, and planned to dump it down the kitchen drain later. With the pleasant warmth of the fire against his back and his stomach full, the exhaustion of the previous few weeks of journeying washed over him, dragging him under into peaceful sleep with the conversation between Kíli and Kerán still going on in the background.

-000-

Fíli woke very slowly, his head still swimming with unfinished dreams and it was with great effort that he opened his eyes to find that the room had become darkened whilst he was asleep – the only remnants of the roaring fire being a few glowing lumps of coal.

_Kíli_, his groggy mind was vaguely urging, _where was Kíli?_

Fíli swung his legs down from the man-sized armchair he had fallen asleep in. He felt a bit dizzy, too warm and sluggish – as if gravity had decided to favour the spot he was sitting in. Forcing his eyes to remain open, he looked around, trying to focus on what he was seeing. Something seemed off. Kíli was not in the room and if he was sleeping somewhere nearby then Fíli would hear him snoring. No, something was wrong and he had to find Kíli. _He had to find Kíli._

Fíli stood up on wobbly legs and headed for the hallway leading to the kitchen. He had to catch himself on either side of the wall as his legs threatened to give out beneath him. He found the kitchen just as desolate as the sitting room he had come from. He leaned against the kitchen wall, trying to come to terms with what to he was supposed to do next.

_It is cold here, his_ mind plagued, _why is it so cold? _The door to the outside was open, he finally noticed. _Why would the kitchen door be open?_

Gripping the edge of the table for balance, he made his way to the door, seeing that both his and Kíli's armour and weapons were still on the counter where they had left them earlier that day, and stepped outside into the dark. The wind was quiet and Fíli stood there dumbstruck, trying to figure out what he was looking for. A scuffling noise in the distance drew his attention and he slowly made his way in the general direction. Rounding the corner of the farmhouse, he noticed a weak light coming from somewhere between some trees a bit further ahead. The scuffling noise started up again but Fíli's mind didn't seem to want to supply the answer to what its source could be.

The distance between him and the light seemed to take forever. He recognized the farmer's silhouette cast unto a rough stone wall by the yellow light from a lantern standing on a nearby wooden barrel. He was bending down, dragging something across the dirt. It was only when Fíli had almost reached the lantern that his mind finally registered what was happening.

_Kíli. Kíli._ "Kíli!"

Kerán's head snapped up and his flabbergasted expression would have been comical in any other situation. He released the unconscious dwarf he had been holding, dropping him unceremoniously and stepping towards Fíli expectantly.

Fíli lowered his head and charged, attacking with his fists as his only weapon. The impact against the man's body almost sent him reeling, his muscles still unresponsive to his brain's commands. After a few moments of wrestling, Kerán managed to shove Fíli away with surprising strength and took the opportunity to grab a shovel leaning against the wall. Without as much as a chance to get to his feet again, Fíli saw the farmer swing the shovel at him. The first blow hit Fíli on the right shoulder, but he scarcely felt it, trying to orient himself in order to get up. He didn't see the second blow coming for his head but he felt the sick metallic clang reverberating in his skull. He registered a feeling of intense nausea before his eyes closed of their own accord and his mind retreated into unconsciousness.

-000-

Fíli came to with a surge of adrenaline and flailing limbs. With his vision still hazy, he relied on his other senses – he could hear birds chirping distantly and he could feel that he was lying on a hard, cold floor. Most of all he could feel a splitting headache slowly consuming all other thoughts – all other thoughts except…

"Kíli!" He yanked himself upright; the thoughts of the previous night came back to him in a whirl. The meagre light in the room felt blinding and he blinked several times before he managed to recognize that it was his brother's supine body lying next to him – eerily quiet.

_Please don't be dead, Kíli_

He pawed at the figure and to his immense relief he could feel the steady rise and fall of his brother's chest. Next he discerned that some of the ringing in his ears was actually the clanging of chains and he noticed that his left boot had been removed and a thick metal shackle connected his ankle to a rail running just above the floor. He looked over to see if Kíli had been left unrestrained and was not surprised to see that his brother had been shackled to the rail in the same way. Taking a few deep breaths, he made a conscious effort to study the room in which he found himself.

The walls were made of a rough grey stone, forming a small room. He was sitting with his back against a wooden counter running down the length of the room and in the adjacent wall to his right was a wooden door barred by an iron gate. There were rectangles of golden light on the opposite wall, assumingly coming from high-set windows in the wall behind him. An anvil stood in the middle of the room which was to his left. A large hearth was built into the centre of the other wall. Doorways on either side of the hearth seemed to lead to a small, dark backroom.

Everything was rendered a greyish hue by layers of dust and a particular lump of grey on the other side of the anvil caught his eye. Carefully, Fíli lifted himself unto his knees and crawled towards it, squinting while trying to make sense of the shape. To his surprise, the chain of his shackle had enough slack to allow him to reach it. At his touch, the form fell over and Fíli felt the horror creep up his spine at what he saw.

It was a dwarf - or more accurately, the skeleton of a dwarf. Still on his hands and knees, Fíli quickly retreated back to the counter, panting harshly and trying to calm himself. _There are dead dwarves here_. He returned his focus to Kíli at his side who was still sleeping seemingly peacefully. Exhausted even though had had just woken up moments ago, Fíli scooted himself closer and laid his head down onto his brother's chest and allowed the rhythmic heartbeat to lull him back to sleep.

TBC


	3. Chapter 3: Negotiations

Fíli woke again when Kíli stirred beneath him, groaning out an incoherent string of words and bringing his hands up to rub at his eyes. Yellow beams of dusty sunshine were shining through the small windows above them, indicating late afternoon. Fíli sat back, watching his brother prop himself up on his elbows, frowning at the state of his own dishevelled and dusty clothing and then looking up at Fíli with a questioning smile. It was only when he saw the look on Fíli's face that he suddenly jerked himself upright, his eyes frantically searching the room and finally noticing the shackle around his ankle.

Fíli wanted to say something. Say some words of reassurance or comfort to his younger brother who seemed to be catching up to the situation quite quickly, realising that they have been tricked and ensnared by someone they had deemed a friend just the previous day, but no words came to Fíli's lips. He wanted to tell Kíli that it was going to be alright, that they would get out of this, but he had no idea what would be happening now. What could a simple farmer want with two dwarves?

Reaching up to grab the edge of the counter for support, Kíli stood up slowly, leaning heavily. "What is this place?" he asked, inspecting the four walls with trepidation. "Where are we? Fíli?"

Fíli came to his feet as well, chains clinking, his head still throbbing but at least he didn't feel as shaky as he had earlier. "I don't know. I…," he faltered. "It was Kerán. He… last night he…"

Kíli looked down at his feet again and began yanking at the chain angrily, kicking and pulling away from the rail where it was fastened and finally bringing his foot up to flit his fingers through the hoops of the chain and the shackle itself, searching for a gap or crevice to pry open and finding none. Slamming both his fists down on the countertop in frustration, Kíli let out an angry growl. Fíli noticed that the rail that ran along the floor in fact continued along the entire circumference of the room. Well, almost. It stopped short a few feet from the door, the rail vanishing into the wall and re-emerging on the other side of the door.

Staring in that direction, he was shaken out of his thoughts when the door suddenly swung open on screeching hinges, revealing their host from the previous night standing on the other side of the wrought iron gate, wearing the same smile had had the day before.

"Useless dwarves," the farmer declared with a hint of drama. "Waking up when they are _not_ supposed to…" he gave Fíli an evocative glare, "… and then sleeping like the dead far into the afternoon!"

Fíli knew what was going to happen next even as the farmer was saying those words: Kíli lunged forward in anger, storming towards the door. The chain around his ankle followed along the rail for the first few steps and then caused Kíli to plummet into the stone floor when it had reached its limit.

"Kíli!" Fíli ran forward, taking care not to trip over his own tether. Kíli was still angrily clawing at the stone floor, reaching forward toward the boots of his captor, just out of his reach beyond the gate. Kerán merely smirked, seemingly amused at Kíli's attempt at attacking him.

"What do you want with us?" Fíli asked, crouching down at his flailing brother's side, placing an arm around his shoulders. "Why would you do this?"

The farmer let out a mirthless laugh. "Isn't it obvious – you are going to work for me, of course!"

"_This_," Fíli grabbed a handful of the chain around his ankle for emphasis, "_This_ is not what we had discussed!"

"I don't remember you saying anything about working conditions," Kerán said, linking his hands through the bars of the gate. "And besides, I don't know why you are so upset – you wanted work, I am giving you work." This conversation was taking a turn for the worst, but Fíli tried to keep calm, tried to reason a logical argument in his head.

"We have some gold," he said, trying to keep the tinge of desperation out of his voice. "We'll give it to you if you…just…" Fíli reached into the pockets of his trousers where he kept the six golden coins they had saved up thus far. But the leather pouch was not there.

The farmer flashed them a toothy grin, "You can't give me what I already took. And a few coins won't buy you freedom." Fíli could feel the rage bubbling up inside him.

"So you will let us go when we are done working?" he asked, helping Kíli up while pouring all his anger into the words directed at the man. "We are meeting our uncle in two weeks time, you know this!"

"You see, I was thinking along the lines of a more permanent arrangement," was Kerán's nonchalant answer.

"You can't just keep us here, you fool!" Kíli shouted at him. "Our uncle will come looking for us!"

"I don't doubt he will," Kerán replied. "But he will find no dwarves here," he continued, "Nor anywhere else, for you see, there was a terrible accident – two young dwarves killed by a pack of wolves along the smaller roads. Terrible business, not even a scrap of clothing left. Only this…" The farmer pulled a bronze dagger from his belt and Fíli instantly recognised it as his own, given to him by his uncle Thorin.

This time it was Fíli who stormed the gate, grabbing at air when he could go no nearer than the length of chain allowed. "You will regret this," Fíli hissed. "And don't you think we will do any work for you!"

Kerán chuckled, "In that case you might find your stay here even less desirable – for you see, work earns you food. No work," the farmer shrugged, "No food."

Fíli looked over, meeting Kíli's anxious eyes. Fíli did not know what to say to this man who now wields so much power over them. Digressing to his last resort, Fíli turned back to their captor, "Why couldn't you just find someone to work for you willingly," he asked, "Why do this?" he asked. The man was not hurting for money, Fíli knew. He had seen the inside of the house – the good food and luxurious furniture had reflected the farmer's wealth.

Kerán gave Fíli a long thoughtful look, as if contemplating a very meaningful answer. He shifted his gaze to a seething Kíli, standing with his fists clenched at his brother's side.

"Because you don't always get what you want!" The farmer slammed the door shut abruptly, casting the room into a murky darkness once more. During the silence that followed, the last few golden rays of sunshine faded, engulfed by shadows.

-000-

_Stupid_. That is what he was - a stupid, naïve dwarfling who led his brother and himself straight into a madman's trap. How many dwarves has this farmer ensnared with his little friendship scheme over the years – and where were they now? The dwarven skeleton lying beneath the table was indication enough and Fíli wondered how the poor soul had met his end. Was he murdered? Worked to death? Probably starved, Fíli decided, considering what the farmer had said earlier; made to work until his legs gave out and then left to die here with no comfort or even sympathy from the man who caused him his suffering.

Fíli sighed. It was night time now and, guided by only the small amount of moonlight the tiny windows admitted, they were negotiating their way around the room, carefully manoeuvring their ankle chains along the rail as they went, searching for some way to escape their prison. Soon the intent behind the design of the room was clear – they could reach every part of it if they moved along the rail, except for the door, and the length of the chain allowed them to reach the centre of the room where the anvil and table stood.

The rail ran along the wall on the one side of what Fíli now recognised to be a forge - not a hearth - and into the small backroom where a dirty blanket was lying in one corner and a lavatory was built into the other. The rail emerged on the other side of the forge and made its way along the workbench, past a stone basin, and stopping a few feet before reaching the door.

It was a blacksmith's workshop, Fíli realised. At least that explained what type of work the farmer had in mind for them. It was well known that the dwarves' craft in blacksmithing remains unprecedented, yet Fíli knew that both he and his brother had always preferred the sword over the hammer.

"Thorin will come for us," Kíli stated. They had sat down together on the lump of blanket in the back room. The night air was chilly around them, and missing one boot each and their fur-lined coats which they had left in the farmer's kitchen along with their weapons the night before, both had wrapped their arms around themselves to conserve heat.

"Of course he will," Fíli agreed. "It is only a matter of time. And when he does, he will stick a sword through that man's gut before he can even open his lying mouth."

Kíli chuckled darkly, "Maybe he would let me put a couple of arrows in him first," he mused.

Fíli returned the laugh and leaned back, closing his eyes. _What would Thorin do in this situation? _Fíli admitted that he didn't like his own answer: Thorin would not have landed himself in this predicament in the first place. He would have seen the danger coming; not letting his guard down so easily. He would have protected his family and he would be free right now.

-000-

Fíli had fallen into a fitful sleep sometime during the night and it could have barely been dawn when he was wakened by Kíli's voice coming from the main room.

"Fíli! Someone's coming, wake up!"

It took him just a few seconds to jolt upright and stumble towards Kíli standing near the door, again nearly tripping over his chain in the process. The crunching of boots on gravel on the outside reached its crescendo just as Fíli swerved and stepped in front of his brother, purposely placing his own body between him and whoever would be coming through the door.

It was Kerán, of course. He was carrying a bucket in one hand and was using a set of keys to open the gate. He stepped inside, but kept close to the door – still out of reach of the two dwarves.

"Good morning, my two dwarf slaves!" he greeted in a mocking, merry tone. "Sleep well?"

For a brief moment Fíli wondered if the man was seriously expecting an answer to that. Either way he opted for crossing his arms and glaring, his eyes never leaving the farmer's smug face.

"I thought I would start you off easy today," the farmer continued, leaning forward and setting the bucket down within reach of his captives. "This place could really use a good cleaning."

Still Fíli said nothing and neither did Kíli. They were absolutely not going to play his game. They were going to stand tall. _Like Thorin would, _Fíli's mind added.

Kerán grinned at their silence. "Just as I expected." He shrugged. "Well, tell me when you are ready to comply then." With that he turned around and closed the door behind him. There was the sound of the gate locking and then he was gone.

That was day number one. The farmer didn't return for the rest of the day and the dwarves were left to ponder the room like they had the previous night. In the light of day, they found some metal working tools buried beneath the dust. Also, it was clear in the way the room was built – the forge, the anvil and even the wooden table, that it was of dwarvish make. The workbench and counter was also of dwarf height and against the far wall, Fíli could make out some dwarvish runes etched into the wall. Most were faded, but one – the rune for water – was still visible.

Fíli noticed that he and Kíli both avoided looking at the skeleton beneath the table_. That was not going to happen to them. They would survive this. _

On day number two the farmer only opened the door at dawn to take a quick look at the condition of the room before leaving without saying a word. The hunger had begun to gnaw at Fíli's insides and he knew that Kíli must be feeling the same, even if he didn't admit it. They had drunk some of the water from the bucket the farmer had left for them to clean with, but the old rags in the bucket had turned the water murky and made it taste oily.

They spent the day looking for a weakness in the rail or the shackles– a spot they could break apart using some of the blacksmith tools. But they were solid, even after hours of hammering at it not so much as a scratch could be seen. _Dwarvish iron_, Fíli realized – could only be shaped using extreme heat – much more than the small forge could supply even if they had the coal to operate it.

On day number three the hunger pangs were all-consuming. Kíli sat on the dusty blanket in the backroom and didn't leave it for the entire morning and most of the afternoon. Realising that their stubbornness was not going to last much longer, Fíli gave in. He was supposed to be protecting Kíli, but making them both to starve was not going to accomplish anything.

_Forgive me, Thorin_.

With hands trembling, Fíli started cleaning the counter nearest to the door. Kíli was sleeping in the back room and Fíli found that he was grateful for that. Grateful that his brother wasn't there to see him give in, weak with hunger and barely able to keep himself upright due to the cramps in his abdomen.

That evening the farmer returned, and after a quick glance and a self-satisfied grin, brought forth a large bowl containing some sort of soup which he scooted across the floor at Fíli.

"Eat up," he ordered.

Fíli spent that night sitting next to Kíli's sleeping form, sharpening the edge of the chisel he had found against the rough stone floor. It would only be a matter of time before the farmer stepped over that invisible threshold and into his reach.

Only a matter of time - and then he would pay dearly.

TBC


	4. Chapter 4: Hunger

The rays of morning sunshine did little to alleviate the heavy wintriness that seemed to have set into the room. Both Fíli and Kíli had been lying awake for hours before sunrise, neither speaking but savouring the relative peace now that the dizziness that came with the previous days' worth of hunger had been somewhat lifted.

Fíli's thoughts were centered on the _what-if_. What if he had grabbed his falchion on his way out the door that night? What if he had just been able to hold his own against Kerán, a simple human farmer? Fíli imagined that the sip of tea he had taken that night had quite a lot to do with that, clouding both his mind and thwarting his ability to fight. Kíli probably drank the whole cup and it knocked him out for nearly a whole day. It was still going to be more than a week before Thorin was to return to Bree and someone even began searching for them. More than a week at the mercy of a man who obviously didn't value the lives of dwarves to begin with.

The door opened once the sun was up and the farmer greeted them cheerily and placed two more buckets of water down on the floor, again instructing them to clean the room properly by the end of the day. Fíli kept one hand near the waistband of his trousers where he kept the sharpened chisel, watching Kerán carefully should he step into Fíli's reach. Unfortunately, Kerán never did, quickly retreating and locking the gate once he had put the buckets down. Surprisingly, he left the door open, allowing the crisp morning breeze into the musty room.

"I'll see you tonight, my little dwarves," Kerán waved as he walked away. Even at a distance from the door, Fíli could clearly see the back of the house and to the far right, the cobblestone pathway coming from the front gate. Yelling to attract attention wouldn't help, he knew. There was no-one near enough to hear them – the farm was large and quite some distance from the others and the harvesting was done, so he wasn't expecting anyone to come down the pathway anytime soon.

It was a long day spent washing down the worktables, counters and cupboards with the cold water and trying to gather most of the dust from the floor. With careful hands, they wrapped the dwarven skeleton in the blanket from the back room, respectfully putting it aside and as far out of sight as possible. By night time, they were both tired, frustrated and, once again, hungry. But during the long hours a plan had formed in Fíli's mind – they had to find a way to make the farmer lean just a little bit further into the room. Kíli was rather good at putting up an act when he needed to and had enthusiastically agreed to his part in the scheme. They took turns keeping an eye on the door that afternoon, waiting for – no,_ anticipating_- the farmer to come down the pathway.

When Kerán returned at dusk, he brought with him another bowl, supposedly food, and unlocked the gate with practiced ease. By then the dwarves had already set-up a trap of their own. The buckets with the dust and filthy water were lined up near the door – just a bit further away than they had been previously. Kíli sat with his back against the wall beside the buckets, slumped and appearing to be half-asleep, the hand behind his back hiding the fire poker he had found in the forge while cleaning. Fíli kept a few paces back, arms crossed and at the ready.

"I knew you would cooperate eventually," Kerán said. He slowly placed the bowl down, lifting his gaze to look at Kíli with something akin to concern. When he got back up he reached for handle of the nearest bucket, looking at Fíli with suspicion.

And rightly so, for the moment the man rocked forward on the balls of his feet, Kíli swung the poker from behind his back, hitting the man's ankles with enough force to make him topple forward. Fíli yanked the chisel from his waistband, quickly straddling the man's shoulders and grabbing a fistful of hair to lift the head, exposing the man's throat to the sharp edge of his improvised weapon. Kíli jumped up and stomped his booted foot down on the man's lower back, making sure Kerán could feel the sharp tip of the poker digging into his side.

_This is it! They had him!_

It was eerily quiet for the briefest moment and then there was unexpected sound of Kerán's giddy laugh. It was a deep throaty chuckle of pure amusement, as if he had just been told the funniest joke in all of Middle Earth. Fíli tightened his fist in the man's hair.

"Give me the keys!" he snarled. "Release us and we might suffer your wretched soul to live." But Kerán only continued laughing.

"Did you not hear me!" Fíli pressed the chisel further into the flesh of Kerán's neck. "Where are the keys?" he was shouting now, knowing how desperate he must sound. _What could the man be finding so amusing._

Kerán panted, out of breath from his laughing fit. "I don't have them with me!"

"Liar!" Fíli dragged the chisel across Kerán's neck, drawing the faintest line of blood. "Don't think I won't kill you right here!"

"And how are you going to escape then?" Kerán asked. "With me dead, are the chains simply going to disappear?"

Slowly Fíli began to realize the flaw in their plan. "Search him!" he called over his shoulder at Kíli. Sure enough the farmer was holding a key in his hand – the key to the gate. But the gate was already open and the key was much too big to fit the lock on their shackles. He kept a firm grip on the man while Kíli searched his clothes for the keys to their chains. Puzzlingly, Kerán did not struggle at all, only chuckling softly and moaning a sigh of pleasure when Kíli patted down his back pockets. Just that sound alone made the bile rise in Fíli's throat.

He looked back at Kíli who only shook his head. _Nothing._

With the frustration and disappointment bubbling up inside him, Fíli smashed Kerán's head into the stone floor, hearing the man's nose bones crunch on impact.

That at least made Kerán stop laughing. "Get off me!" he grunted, blood streaming down his face and puddling on the floor at an alarming rate. "Get off me now! With every moment's delay your punishment is going to be worse."

Fíli racked his brain for a way out. _How could their plan have gone so wrong?_ From the corner of his eye, he saw Kíli get up and step back and it was only then that he realised just how much trouble they have gotten themselves into now. He released the man's hair as if it had burnt him, standing up on shaky legs and retreating back towards the wall, dropping the chisel and again placing himself in front of his brother – protecting him against the man's wrath which will surely follow.

With one hand covering his bleeding nose, Kerán came to his feet and headed for the door. "I will deal with you later," he hissed. He locked the gate and closed the door, but not before very deliberately kicking the bowl of stew he had brought out the door, splashing it over the grassy knobs outside.

Fíli let out a sigh of temporary relief once the man was out the door and heard Kíli behind him do the same. They had both survived unscathed, but judging by the livid look in the man's eyes as he had turned to lock them in, they would not be for long.

-000-

Kerán did not come that night or the following morning. The anticipation of whatever the man was planning for his revenge was hanging thick in the room. They have not actually seen the man angry up to now and as they day turned late afternoon again, Fíli wondered if Kerán was simply going to leave them there to starve for their punishment and then only realize that it was too late when he opened the door to find two dead dwarves. Both he and Kíli were shaking with hunger and parched with thirst. Thorin would never find them and what was left of the Durin line will vanish without even a trace. Fíli always thought that he would die alongside his uncle, the great Thorin Oakenshield, in battle when the dwarves retook Erebor someday. Dying in a cage at the whim of a farmer held none of that glory – only a slow, painful and meaningless death.

Kerán did return that evening, however. When he came through the door he had a lantern in one hand and one of Kíli's hunting knifes in the other. The blade reflected the yellow light from the lantern as Kerán twirled it around in his hand. He was not smiling as he usually was. Instead he wore a grim expression with determined eyes. Even in the meek lantern light, Fíli could see the purple swelling around the man's broken nose, which made him look even more menacing.

_Was he going to kill them now?_

Fíli made sure that Kíli was behind him, but stood perfectly still as the man approached them, steeling himself for whatever the man planned to do. He could only hope that Kerán would take it out on him, the one who had broken his nose, instead of Kíli.

"I was going to be nice to you," Kerán began, placing the lantern onto the wooden table. "But now I see that you are no better than the other dwarf scum I had in the past."

Fíli kept silent, holding the man's glare, monitoring his expression for any sign that he was going to pounce.

"I should just slit your throats right now," he growled taking another step forward and Fíli could hear the clinking of the chain as Kíli took a step backward.

Fíli held his ground, keeping his demeanour as calm as possible. Any rash behaviour now will only worsen their situation further. Besides, if the man wanted to kill them he would not idle to make threats.

"I have had enough with your games. Now you will listen to me," Kerán continued. He raised his hand holding the knife and pointed it at Fíli's throat. "From now on you will earn every kindness, every chance to rest and every crumb of bread."

"We will do as you say," Fíli relented, taking a small step back. "But we cannot work for you if you give us no food or water."

"You will earn it!" Kerán shouted, emphasising each word, spitting it out as he jutted the blade in Fíli's direction again.

"What do you want then?" Fíli asked, keeping his voice humble, demure.

The man's characteristic smile came to his lips again. He pulled the blade back, instead lifting it over Fíli's head to point at Kíli. "Come here," he said, motioning with the knife.

"No," Fíli said firmly, shaking his head. "Punish _me_! It was my idea!"

"Quiet!" Kerán bellowed. "Step aside. Or I will walk out that door and won't come back for a couple of days! How would you feel about that?"

Heart beating rapidly, Fíli turned to see his brother's face of barely composed terror, but with a resolute braveness which Kíli had worn many times - when they had been attacked up on the mountains, and even as a young dwarf during one of the village raids by the barbarians from the North. Kíli was strong; he would be able to handle this.

Fíli did not stand aside but allowed his brother to circle past him as he walked towards the man with slow but determined steps. He gave Fíli a small pat on the shoulder as he passed.

_It will be alright. It is just pain. _

When Kíli stopped in front of him, staring up with an apprehensive glare, Kerán kneeled down. Much to both dwarves' surprise, he placed the knife down on the counter behind Kíli. He then raised both hands to Kíli's face and Fíli felt the familiar horror from before creeping up his spine.

_No._

Kíli seemed to realise what was happening too and his eyes widened. He leaned away, eyes darting wildly, but his back was up against the counter and Kerán's hands were on either side of him.

_Trapped._

"Stop," Kerán said gently. "Stop trembling like a baby deer." He leaned forward, his fingertips only softly skimming the skin of Kíli's cheeks, "So beautiful…" he mused.

Fíli could feel the tremors wreck through his body and his jaw tightening with nausea. He wanted to run forward and wring this man's neck, grab that dagger from the counter and plunge it into the man's stomach with all his strength. But he couldn't. Kerán would kill them both, he knew it.

_Oh, by the gods. Please…_

Kerán tilted his head slightly, closing his eyes and with the utmost tenderness drew his own lips across Kíli's, sighing deeply. Kíli held still, eyes wide as the man ran his hands up into his hair.

Fíli hoped for a moment that it was over - that the man would be satisfied and turn away. But he wasn't.

The hands began to move, closing around handfuls of Kíli's hair and with a sudden ferocity, Kerán attacked Kíli's lips - opening his own mouth and prying at the unresponsive lips with his tongue.

Kíli made a sound between a groan and a whimper, raising his hands to push at Kerán's shoulders. The man broke the kiss with a moan and suddenly he had Kíli by the throat, squeezing. "I am not hurting you," he snarled. Kíli writhed, clawing at the hands on his throat. He opened his mouth, trying to gasp some air and Kerán took the opportunity to close his own mouth around Kíli's, hungrily exploring. Kíli's eyes unfocussed and his arms dropped to his sides.

"Stop!" Fíli screeched. "He can't breathe!" All consequences forgotten, Fíli darted forward and managed to shove the man away, only just catching his brother before he sank to the floor, spluttering and wheezing.

The man stepped forward again, but thankfully didn't raise a hand at either dwarf. He simply smiled, licking his lips as if to relish the sensation.

"He's good," Kerán remarked, grinning at Fíli in delight. "Tell me, do you fuck him every night? Must be so good."

Fíli blinked up at the man in horrified bewilderment. "You almost killed him!"

"No," Kerán replied softly. "_You_ almost did."

With that the man took the knife from the counter and the lantern from the table. He gazed down at Kíli one last time before turning and heading out the door.

Kíli was still coughing when the door closed and the room was pitch black once more.

-000-

Morning brought a day of rain and when Kerán entered carrying two plates of food all the way to the back room, neither dwarf spoke or even moved. Fíli sat against the wall next to Kíli who was curled up in the corner, the red handprint around his neck clearly visible.

"Food," the farmer stated quietly, almost apologetically, as he put one plate in front of each dwarf. Neither offered any words of acknowledgment and the farmer turned to leave. He glanced back at the last moment, meeting Kíli's weary eyes.

"I… I'm…" he began, but Kíli turned away, averting his gaze to the wall. Swiftly, the farmer left through the door, locking the gate but leaving the door cracked open.

Even as Fíli began to eat the plate of bread, cheese and generous portion of meat, Kíli did not move. Fíli noticed that while the plates had nearly identical contents, there was one small addition to Kíli's – a tiny cornflower bloom set on the edge of the plate.

TBC


	5. Chapter 5: Payment

The rain finally stopped around midmorning although the clouds were still heavy with the promise of more. Kerán was at the door with a wheelbarrow, handing neatly chopped logs through the gate to Kíli, who in turn handed them to Fíli to stack inside the forge. There was no conversation and Fíli noticed how Kíli would subtly flinch away every time Kerán's hand neared his when taking the pieces of firewood. Fíli would have gladly been the one to stand near the gate to be handed the wood - if only to keep a distance his brother and the farmer - but due to the way their chains were linked on the rail, Kíli's in front of his own, it would not have worked and Kíli would not have been able to reach the forge without tangling the chains. So instead Fíli kept a watchful eye on the interaction. With his arms full of firewood, the farmer looked remarkably like he had the first day they had met him – when he was simply a friendly face to them, a potential friend even, and not their captor and tormentor.

Once the last log was stacked, Fíli turned and his heart momentarily jumped to his throat when he saw Kerán pull not one but three knives from the bottom of the wheelbarrow. To his relief and confusion, the farmer handed all three knifes to Kíli.

"Those are what you are going to be making," Kerán said. Kíli frowned, inspecting the blades and when Fíli approached, handed him one of them. Fíli turned the small knife around in his hand – it was by far not comparable to his own knifes he had grown accustomed to – much simpler in design and crudely forged – more resembling the blades used on farmlands and on fishing boats rather than a weapon of esteem.

"They're different sizes," Kerán continued. "Quite easy to make - the previous dwarf managed to make at least two a day, sometimes three."

"Where do we get the iron?" Fíli dared, still deliberating the knife in his hand.

"I'll bring some around in a while – I collect discarded iron items during the summer months. Mostly horse shoes, some broken armour…and then trade them for some iron rods in the town. But first you will need to get a fire going." He drew a pouch from his pocket, tossing it at Fíli who caught it deftly. "Get started," he said, taking the handles of the wheelbarrow, steering it back in the direction of the house.

Getting the fire started using the flint from the bag was hard enough in itself since the wood was damp and dense in texture. When at last a sad little fire was underway, Fíli drew his attention back to Kíli who was still standing near the door, staring longingly at what lay beyond.

"You alright?" Fíli asked cautiously, walking over to place a hand on his brother's shoulder.

"I'm fine."

Fíli sighed. "Listen to me. We may be stuck here for another week before Thorin comes. Best to do what he says until then." Kíli did not answer. "I won't let him hurt you again," he added, squeezing Kíli's shoulder gently.

"I know."

Fíli knew his brother hated being placated like that, yet for the time being, he had nothing else to offer. When Kíli shrugged the hand off his shoulder and turned to walk away, Fíli let him. After the ordeal with the farmer the day before, he probably needed his space – Fíli could understand that.

Looking up, something caught his eye, pulling him from his reverie. Getting as close to the door as the chain allowed, Fíli squinted, peering through the gate in the direction of the farm gates. Sure enough, someone was coming down the pathway to the house. Not a dwarf as far as Fíli could make out – but a person nonetheless.

"Kíli! Someone's coming!" Fíli beckoned. "Look!" Kíli was at his side in a heartbeat, leaning forward. "He's coming this way!"

It was a man, Fíli could see clearly now. He hoped that the farmer was too busy with whatever he was doing to notice his guest so that the man could get closer to where he was within earshot of the dwarves.

Fíli placed a hand on Kíli's elbow, "Wait…" he told him. When the man turned the last bend in the pathway, leading in their direction, Fíli could see a blink of light – it was a silver badge on the man's coat – the badge worn by the lawmen of Bree.

That was enough for him and apparently for Kíli too, for they both started shouting as loud as they could, waving their arms frantically to try to attract the lawman's attention.

"Help! Help!"

"Over here! Help us!"

At some point Fíli realised that he didn't even know exactly what he was yelling out, only that he had to make as much noise as possible and hope that the man would notice their distress.

_If the man would only look their way… Just a little more – he had to be able to hear them now!_

"Here! We're over here!"

Fíli felt his heart sink when he saw the farmer walking up the pathway toward the man, extending his arms. The unknown man walked right into the farmer's embrace and with that the hope which had flamed up inside Fíli turned to icy dread. He could hear them talking, but from that distance could not make out the words.

Kíli was still shouting, only falling silent when he saw Kerán pointing in their direction, smiling. When they began walking in the direction of the hovel, Fíli began to suspect that this new man might have no intention of rescuing them after all. Even if this man was a lawman, Fíli knew that most of the lawmen of Bree were just as corrupt as the ruffians they had been appointed keep at bay. Perhaps even more so.

Pulling on Kíli's sleeve, Fíli stepped back. "Come away from the door." The conversation grew louder until the two men came to a standstill in front of the gate. The other man appeared younger than Kerán, but he was taller and broader. While Kerán was busying himself unlocking the gate, the other man leaned to the side to look past him, searching the room with eager eyes. Fíli took another few steps backward, dragging Kíli with him.

When Kerán opened the gate and stepped aside, the other man entered, clasping his hands together in delight when his eyes fell on the two dwarves standing near the back of the room.

"I see what you mean!" the man exclaimed, looking at Kíli wantonly. Fíli tightened his grip on his brother's sleeve. "Very nice." The man's gaze shifted to Fíli. "The other one too!" Kerán laughed from the doorway.

The sick feeling returned and Fíli's stomach threatened to expel the little it had in it. He felt Kíli next to him go rigid in response to the man's words.

"Good for more than manual labour, hey?" the tall man chuckled, turning back to Kerán. "Am I right?"

Kerán, however, did not seem to enjoy the man's remark. "Let's go talk inside, Wharin."

The man gave the dwarves a good long appraising look before turning and following Kerán out the door.

-000-

This new man was worrying to Fíli. He was clearly a friend of their captor – a crooked lawman who probably helped him in his schemes. He was a new player in this game of theirs – and Fíli needed to know who he was and what he will be doing with the information of their whereabouts. The fire was now roaring in the forge – finally driving some of the chill from their bones. Kíli sat on the table, blankly staring at the dancing flames.

When Kerán returned a while later, the other man was not with him. He was carrying an armful of iron rods which he placed on the counter nearest to the door. "I want you to make at least one blade by the end of the day," he told them. "I'll come and have a look at it tonight."

Fíli took the two plates the farmer had brought them earlier that day from where he had stacked them on the table – very deliberately handing them to Kerán. He did this partly because he knew the farmer probably wanted them back, but mostly to remind their keeper that they still needed to eat.

"Who is your friend from earlier?" Fíli asked, keeping his tone polite, conversational.

Kerán raised his eyebrows and took the plates without comment, "He's the one who is going to go tell the chief of law in Bree about the two dwarves eaten by wolves on the farmroad."

What puzzled Fíli was the fact that the man did not say it with malice or even smugness. He just relayed the information like it was a sad fact of live. It still stung, though and Fíli could feel himself being overwhelmed by feelings of powerless hate toward the man.

Still he tried to keep his tone respectful, "You will not let us go then?" he asked. "Not ever?"

The farmer casted his eyes down to the floor, and quietly answered, "I can't."

There was moment of tense silence after which Kerán took a few careful steps closer to where Kíli sat on the table. The younger dwarf looked up at him with an expression of deep distrust and apprehension.

"I remember you saying that you liked target shooting," he told Kíli, smiling gently. "How about we have ourselves a little contest tonight?"

-000-

By nightfall Fíli was still busy trying to shape the rod into something resembling the knives Kerán had given them. It was a laborious process, heating the rod over the fire until it was glowing red hot and then trying to shape it using one of the numerous hammers. But the fire was not yet completely hot enough and the tools they had were less than ideal for the job. They took turns at it, but it was soon clear that Fíli possessed a little more skill. At least he could appreciate that they didn't need to draw the iron from the ores themselves. Both of them were grateful for the pitcher of water the farmer had brought them earlier – the water tasted sweet and fresh.

He still wondered what Kerán meant when he spoke of a contest for that night. He could only hope that it had the most innocent of meanings.

When Kerán came that night they could at least deliver what appeared to be a knife. The farmer inspected the handiwork, seeming not too disappointed, before handing it back to Fíli.

"Still needs to be sharpened," he said. "I will bring you the whetstone tomorrow."

Fíli nodded. At least he managed to appease the man thus far. He dreaded to think what other _punishments_ the man could conjure up. Kerán had brought food with him – again on the two plates which he placed on the table, motioning Kíli over from where he was standing in the corner.

"Go ahead. Eat," he said. Their dinner was porridge and stew – and this time they were even given a spoon to eat it with. There was a moment of hesitation when neither dwarf dared reach for the food with Kerán standing just on the other side of the table.

_Some kind of trap?_ Fíli asked himself. _Was Ker__á__n going to snatch it away when they try to take it? _

"Come on, now! Have some," Kerán said in a kind voice. "I remember you liking my stew the last time."

It took everything bit of self-restraint for Fíli not to scoff at the remark. _The last time they had not been his prisoners_. He mustered some courage and took the plate nearest to him. Kíli followed suit and it took them but minutes to empty the plates, even with Kerán's awkward stare on them.

"Thank you," Fíli managed when they were done.

"You're welcome," the farmer replied, gathering the plates and walking out the door at a brisk pace, only to return moments later with two bows in his hand – one Kíli's and one presumably his own. He had a large quiver with arrows on his back and he held a basket of apples in his other hand.

The dwarves watched with trepidation while Kerán laid out the two bows and the quiver on the table. He placed the basket with the apples on the counter opposite the table, taking out four red apples which he placed on the edge at equal distance from each other. He picked up his bow – larger than Kíli's but much more modest in design – and waved Kíli over, offering his own bow to him.

"We don't have large distances to work with, so we will have to make do with small targets for a challenge."

Kíli approached the farmer hesitantly, glancing back at Fíli briefly before taking the bow, still keeping his distance. With that simple action, some of the life in Kíli's eyes seemed to return. Kíli's bow had always been like a natural extension of his arm to him, Fíli thought. Perhaps it gave him back some of his confidence.

"Alright. Best out of three wins," Kerán declared. "But there should be stakes, don't you think?"

Kíli did not answer, keeping his face neutral. "How about this: you win then you may ask anything of me which is in my power to give to you. Just ask and it will be yours!"

Kíli still did not react, only raised his head slightly to look the farmer in the eyes. "And if I lose?"

Kerán grinned at him, "Then you may give me whatever you think you should."

_There it was_. Fíli was waiting for Kerán to make another pass at Kíli the moment the man had come through the door. It was not like Kíli had any choice but to participate in the game. While Fíli had every confidence in his brother's skill as a bowman, he still dreaded to think what the farmer would ask of Kíli should he win the game. Or even what he would do to Kíli if he lost too many times.

"I'll go first," Kerán declared, grabbing an arrow from the quiver and stepping away from the counter until he had his back up against the opposite wall. The nocked the arrow and aimed. Both brothers backed away from counter and when the arrow was released, it hit the apple to the far right, knocking it from the counter.

Apparently he hadn't been lying about his archery skills, Fíli thought.

"Your turn," the farmer called to Kíli. With just a tinge of his quintessential cockiness, Kíli took his place up against the wall, nocking, aiming and shooting in one fluid motion. The apple in the middle exploded as it was impaled by the arrow.

"Very good," Kerán remarked. "But I'm just getting warmed up."

They both shot two more times – Kerán ordering Fíli to replace the apples that were hit after every round. Kerán missed on his second shot but seemed only amused when Kíli had another perfect hit. The third time Kerán also managed to completely obliterate an apple, but Kíli's third shot matched his previous two, winning him the game.

The farmer laughed merrily, taking an exuberant bow at Kíli. "Congratulations! I'm impressed," he said. "What will you ask of me then?"

Fíli hoped that Kíli had the sense not to anger the man.

"You know what we want," Kíli replied softly, but meaningfully.

The farmer shook his head. "You know I can't give you that. Ask something else."

When Kíli did not answer immediately, Kerán spoke again. "What about I give you back your coats? I dare say you will be needing them soon," he suggested. After a brief look back at Fíli, Kíli nodded.

"Another round?" Kerán was already nocking another arrow. Kíli won that round too, but only narrowly with Kerán's luck seeming to have improved. After some negotiation, Kíli got the promise of two blankets from their keeper as a prize. Kerán seemed a little less amused at Kíli's second win, but quickly suggested that they move on to round three.

Kíli was about to take his final shot, carefully aiming at a particularly small apple when Kerán came to stand very close to him. Fíli watched with unease as Kerán took a strand of Kíli's chestnut brown hair between his thumb and forefinger, feeling it as if to commit it to memory. At the touch, Kíli startled and the arrow flew from the bow, hitting the underside of the counter instead of what lied on top.

Kerán made a sound that could only be described as a giggle. "My wife had hair like yours," he said fondly, still running the strand through his fingers.

Kíli pulled his head away."Your turn," he said, standing aside.

Fíli knew that if Kerán managed to hit the apple with that shot, he would win the round. With a smirk, Kerán drew another arrow and aimed it at the last ruby red apple on the counter. Fíli's heartbeat quickened and he found himself praying to the Mahal, harder than he ever had before. _Please, please… miss…_The arrow found its target with a crunch, sending pieces of apple flying about the room. _No_

Kerán was smiling, running his tongue along his teeth. "Looks like I'm the winner. What will you give me for my reward?" he asked.

Fíli felt the panic rising within him. Kíli was remarkably calm.

"You… you can have the blankets back," he said firmly, taking a step away from the man who was now approaching him slowly, like one would a frightened animal.

"You know that is not what I want." Kerán sat down on his haunches, smiling lecherously.

"What do you want then?" His brother's voice caught in his throat, the sound breaking Fíli's heart as he was left powerless to save him from the man's lustful intentions.

"I wouldn't want to take advantage," Kerán said. "So how about a kiss?" He patted the index finger of his left hand to his cheek.

Kíli shot a terrified look back at his brother and Fíli never felt more helpless in his life. He knew that interfering now would lead to the man's wrath coming down on them – probably getting Kíli and himself killed.

"Come now," Kerán cooed. "It's not that bad."

Kíli straightened his shoulders and took the two steps toward the man. Quickly and without hesitation, he pecked the smallest of kisses onto the man's bearded cheek.

"Is that all?" Kerán asked incredulously. "Do it properly. Here," he grabbed Kíli's wrist and drew it across his own neck. "Put your arms on my shoulders." Kíli complied numbly, allowing the man to arrange his arms to his liking. "Now, like you _mean_ it!"

The man had that dangerous tinge in his voice again and Fíli felt the blood drain from his face as he watched the scene before him.

Kíli leaned in again. But this time the farmer turned his head at the last moment and he caught Kíli full on the lips, kissing deeply and snaking an arm around his waist.

Kíli yanked away, desperately struggling to release himself from the man's grip. He broke free, only to stumble back and trip over his chain, landing on his back. Kerán grabbed the chain, pulling it to him as he crawled toward the flailing dwarf.

Fíli rushed forward, reaching his brother in time to push the man off him. He received a hard smack across the face for it, allowing Kíli just enough time to draw his arm back to punch the man right on his broken nose. Kerán fell back shrieking in pain.

Fíli could barely get to his feet before he saw that Kerán now had his bow in his hands, pointing an arrow directly at Fíli.

"Step back," the man hissed, blood streaming from his nose again and dripping from his chin. Fíli, however, did not move. Kíli sat up slowly, cupping the back of his head in pain.

"Step away from him!" the man yelled at Fíli, now aiming the bow at Kíli. He was seething in anger, murder in his eyes.

Fíli raised his hands and took a few careful steps backward. "Don't shoot," he pleaded. "Please don't kill him."

"Step away!" Kerán yelled again. Only when Fíli reached the back of the room did the farmer lower his bow, standing up and wiping at the blood on his mouth.

"Get up," he told Kíli, who obeyed wordlessly. His bow was lying at his side, but he daren't reach for an arrow on the table with Kerán's full attention on him.

Kerán raised his bow again, this time aiming it at Fíli. Yet he was looking at Kíli, daring him with eyes, and finally said, "Strip."

Kíli stared back at him dumbly. "What?"

"Take off your clothes," the man repeated. There was silence.

Fíli thought that his heart could not possibly break further, but then Kíli dropped his head in defeat and started pulling at the lacings of his tunic. He clasped the hem and pulled it over his head, exposing yellow-green bruises littered across his chest and shoulders. The room smelled of apples.

It was then, as Kíli stood bowed before Kerán like a martyr, letting his tunic fall from his fingers, that Fíli realised it was the most beautiful sight he had ever seen.

Outside, it started raining again.

TBC


	6. Chapter 6: Red

Kerán was staring raptly as more and more of Kíli's skin was revealed. Even though he still had the arrow aimed at Fíli in the corner, the man's eyes were feasting on Kíli's flesh. Fíli did not know where to look when his brother began undoing the buckle of his belt. He could not stand to watch the perverse look on Kerán's face as he watched Kíli undress, but he could not bring himself to look at his brother either. It felt wrong, like he would only be adding to the humiliation Kíli was suffering.

Instead he kept his eyes fixed on the arrow in the bow. He knew that with the farmer being as entranced as he was, he could probably move away from the corner without being noticed. He also knew it would be to no avail. Arrow pointed at him or not, they were still stuck here at the mercy of this man.

Fíli heard when Kíli's trousers joined the rest of his clothes on the floor. The room had grown dark quite quickly once the sun had set completely and only the cold light of early evening and the small amount of light coming from the farmhouse windows offered any illumination. It was a small comfort to Fíli in a way – Kerán had not brought a lantern with him, which meant that he must have not intended to stay this long. The other reason, Fíli admitted to himself ashamedly, was that he could not really see what was happening on the other side of the table. He couldn't see the shame on his brother's face or Kerán's hungry stare – he could make himself believe that this was not happening.

His little chimera shattered when Kerán released a hitching breath, licking his lips. He lowered his bow slightly, but then quickly raised it again when he realised what he was doing. He gave Fíli an apprehensive stare while moving closer to Kíli who was standing perfectly still, like a statue. The bit of moonlight coming from the windows above rendered Kíli's skin a shade of pale blue – like marble.

_The statue of a martyr_

Only when he seemed sure that Fíli was not going to lurch did Kerán look down at his prey. More than ever Fíli cursed the chain around his ankle – the small links of iron were the only thing keeping him from murdering the man with his own bare hands. Sure, there were many sharp implements lying around, and yet Fíli knew he would prefer to use his own hands and watch the life drain from the appalling man's face – just like the life was being drained from Kíli's, little by little each day since they had been there. Kerán went to stand right before Kíli, thrusting his hips into the dwarf's face.

"Unlace me. Slowly," Kerán ordered and Fíli suddenly realised he was not above begging. Not for his brother.

"Please don't make him do this." Fíli could hear the quiver in his own, pathetic voice. "Please, you have already beaten us, starved us… don't make him go through this too."

For a second Fíli thought that he might have gotten through to the man. Kerán lifted his eyes to meet Fíli's and, if only for a moment, Fíli thought he saw genuine guilt there. Then the moment was gone.

"Get on with it!" Kerán hissed down at Kíli. He pulled back on the arrow, poising to shoot. Again the nausea clenched at Fíli's stomach.

Kíli's hands went up to work at the lacings of the man's breeches and even in the meagre light Fíli saw the man's straining phallus jump free from its constraints.

"Hands on my hips," Kerán continued, breath quickening. Kíli obeyed. "Now take it in your mouth." There was a pause. "Now suck."

Fíli could watch no longer and shifted his gaze to the forge were a few hot coals were still smouldering. He covered his eyes with his quacking hands; he felt his face burn with shame imagining what must be happening right in front of him. He could hear Kerán's hitching breath and the slow groan that followed. He heard soft, wet plopping sounds. A sharp intake of breath…

"Slowly, now…" Kerán was saying. "That's it…." he sighed.

The rhythm of the sounds changed and then there was more groaning from Kerán. There was a sharp clatter and, knowing he'll probably regret it, Fíli lowered his hands, seeing that Kerán had dropped the bow onto the table, leaning back against it on his elbows as the head bobbing at his crotch increased its pace. In sickened awe, Fíli could not tear his gaze away.

Kerán brought the hand covered in his own blood from his bleeding nose to pet the head in front him, threading his fingers through and then knotting in the hair, forcefully quickening the pace. He was keening now, moaning some arrangement of _yes_ and _ah_ under his breath.

"Faster, fuck yes… more…" He was gnarling now, his hand thrusting harder.

There was a sick sound of choking and then spluttering. Kíli was on the floor, heaving and finally retching. His body arched as the tremors ran up his naked body, forcing him to fall forward on his hands to steady himself. Slowly, Kerán straightened up, panting. He grinned down at Kíli on the floor and then his eye caught something on the counter. He waddled over and picked up one of the iron rods he had brought earlier that day, eyeing it gleefully.

With growing horror, Fíli watched him place the tip of the rod amongst the fiery hot coals. Fíli looked over his shoulder at Kíli who was finally sitting up, wiping at his mouth with the back of his hand. Before Fíli could conjure some words of warning, Kerán had returned from the forge with the glowing hot rod in his hand. He had Kíli by the hair again and he shoved him back down onto the floor.

He straddled Kíli's back, pushing the dwarf's head into the floor stones beneath him. "Mine!" he snarled, and with no hesitation, he pressed the red-hot iron onto the skin of Kíli's shoulder blade.

"Do you hear me? You're _mine_!"

Then there was screaming. Fíli could hear his own screams of terror above that of his brother as he dived forward to seize the rod. The rod struck him across the face before he could even reach it and that's how he found himself lying on the floor beside his brother, blinded by pain as he heard the rod come down another two times hissing onto Kíli's flesh.

Then it was quiet.

Fíli opened his eyes. Kíli had stopped screaming. He wasn't moving at all.

Kerán was staring down at the prone form on the floor with an expression of shock; his head jerked to the side to look at Fíli with eyes wide in bewilderment. Abruptly, Kerán shot up, dropping the rod to clang on the floor and grabbing his bow from the table. He quickly gathered the arrows, the quiver and Kíli's bow from the floor, and darted out the door, slamming both the gate and the door shut with an echoing bang.

It was quiet again.

"Kíli?" Fíli picked himself up, feeling the warm blood run from his mouth, and crawled over to his brother. Kíli was laying dead still, face turned away and eyes closed. He was breathing, although shallowly.

The burn on Kíli's shoulder was in sharp contrast to the expanse of his back, but it was distinctive – it was the letter _K_ in the common tongue - a _brand_ etched into his skin.

-000-

Fíli felt like he had only closed his eyes for a moment, holding his unconscious brother in his arms, when he woke to sunlight on his face. The horror of the previous night was still coursing through him, making his blood run cold. Kíli was still sleeping, breathing steadily; Fíli had managed to put Kíli's trousers and tunic back on, careful not to let the fabric touch the blistering flesh on his back. Fíli was exhausted, drained both mentally and physically. But it was morning and morning meant that Kerán would be coming again.

He sat up cautiously as to not wake Kíli and forced himself to stand up. He gingerly touched his fingertips to his face where the strike with the rod had sent his teeth though his bottom lip, and winced. Pieces of apple were still strewn across the floor and, judging by the degree sunshine from the windows, he must have been asleep much longer than he had thought.

His suspicion proved correct when he saw that two bowls of porridge had been delivered, along with their cloaks and two thick, green blankets. The pitcher had been refilled and a pail of lukewarm water and a bar of soap stood next to the basin. Fíli shuddered thinking how close Kerán had to have come to them whilst they were asleep.

He took one blanket off the counter, appreciating the smell of clean wool as it unfolded. He was going to make Kíli a bed in the back room, as far from Kerán's eyes as possible. He was going to get him cleaned up, feed him the porridge and then let him sleep. To hell with Kerán and the knives – he was going to take care of his brother first. He turned around, intending to wrap his brother in the warm blanket, when he saw something blue lying in Kíli's outstretched, placid hand.

It was a small posy of cornflower blossoms.

TBC


	7. Chapter 7: Cold Sweat

The one thing Fíli was absolutely certain about now was that Kerán was a very unstable man. He was acting as though at the whim of two different personalities: the kind, compassionate farmer and Kerán, the cantankerous, lecherous man who usually came out at night to hunt. The one who took what he wanted by force.

The former personality appeared to have been at work that morning – the man who brought them food and bedding – and the flowers. Fíli concluded that the wilted blossoms lying on the table in the adjacent room were some twisted metaphor for an apology. Yet, somehow that thought made it even worse. The beast inside Kerán had entwined the concept of romantic pursuit with possession – and that made him a very dangerous man.

And unpredictable.

Fíli made it a priority to make sure Kíli was as comfortable as possible. He managed to roll Kíli onto one of the blankets and slowly manoeuvre him to the back room where he bunched his own coat into a makeshift pillow for his brother to rest his head upon. Next he brought the pail of soapy water and a rag over to wash to worst of the week's worth of dirt, sweat and grime from Kíli's face and neck. Kíli only groaned softly at the ministrations. Only when he attempted to lift his brother's tunic to clean further did Kíli protest – whimpering and yanking it back down over his bruised abdomen. It was heartbreaking to see his brother – his usually cheerful, fearless and perhaps a little reckless brother – reduced to the pitiful creature he was now.

How long would it be before the Kíli he knew disappeared altogether?

Fíli decided not to press the matter and settled for placing the rag dampened by cool water from the pitcher against the burns on Kíli's back. The blistering wound leaked moisture tainted with blood, especially where the three burns had overlapped near the centre. When Kíli started to shiver, Fíli covered him up with the remaining blanket, bundling Kíli's coat underneath him at one side to angle his weight off of his injury. When he woke eventually, Fíli urged him to drink some water and to eat most of the porridge and then hushed him back to sleep. Fíli finished the remainder of the food and cleaned himself up as best he could, listening for any signal of Kerán's approach the whole time. There was a tingle in his throat that did not disappear upon drinking some water and he gulped experimentally. A sore throat was the least of his worries – with Kíli lying injured because of him, having to martyr himself in order to save their lives each time the beast came for him.

If Thorin could see them now, he would not be proud of Fíli – of what Fíli had allowed to happen to his brother.

The day had turned into a chilly, windy afternoon. Kíli had woken up another couple of times - each time panting harshly and with panicked eyes frantically searching the room, only settling down when Fíli shook his shoulders, snapping him out of his delirium to assure him that he was safe. They were alone - for now, at least.

When the crunch of footsteps on gravel came later that afternoon, Fíli hurried to meet the man at the door, not wanting him to disrupt the sanctuary a sleeping Kíli had found curled up beneath the blanket in the back room.

Fíli had to take the long turn about the room, careful that the clinking and scraping of the chain along the rail would not wake Kíli. As the key turned in the lock, he braced himself, wondering which man would come through the door – surely the beast would be sated for a while after the events of the previous night.

_Hopefully_

When the door opened and Kerán peered around the edge with a sombre expression, Fíli breathed a little sigh of relief – this was the man, not the beast. At least for the moment.

"How is he?" the farmer asked solemnly, stepping inside but keeping to the door, only slightly craning his neck to look for the other dwarf in the direction of the back room.

"He's asleep," Fíli answered, following Kerán's gaze, mindful of his tone as to not awaken the beast inside the man. The man craned his neck further, taking a few steps to the side for a better view of the back room.

"He's hurt," Fíli added, raising his hands placatingly. "He needs to sleep."

The man's face contorted in what could only be called pure, raw contrition. Kerán sidestepped Fíli in front of him, making his way over to the back room and Fíli could only hurry after him, reaching the doorway at the same time as the farmer.

Kíli was still sleeping soundly exactly as he had left him. He was lying on his side, blanket pulled up to his chin and a section hair spilling over the green wool. Fíli was once again made to watch in helpless horror as Kerán kneeled down and leaned over to reach a hand towards the sleeping dwarf. He could envision the terror on his brother's face if he awoke to find Kerán leaning over him.

The man merely drew the back of two fingers across Kíli's cheek – carefully, almost lovingly – before standing up again. Thankfully, Kíli did not even stir at the touch.

"He is going to be alright," the farmer stated, more to himself than to Fíli. "He'll be just fine."

Kerán turned and walked back out door, taking the empty plates and pail of dirty water with him as he went.

"Take care of him," he told Fíli as he locked the gate.

When he was gone, Fíli felt weak with relief and leaned forward onto the counter. The basket with a few more of the apples stood there, and Fíli thought that even if he were starving, he could never handle eating another apple ever again.

-000-

The following day Kerán brought in their breakfast early, along with some more firewood and the whetstone. Kíli was awake this time, but obeyed Fíli in staying at the back of the room. The man instructed Fíli a bit more on the specifications of the blade and then left, never once looking up to meet Kíli's eyes.

By midmorning, Kíli was at the forge. He had insisted that he was well enough to work and channelled all his anger into furiously beating the metal into shape. Fíli watched him work with a sort of dazed fascination as he himself sharpened the other blade on the whetstone. By the time he was done, Kíli was still going at it with such vicious ardency that Fíli did not dare offer to take over. Secretly he was glad for it since the tingle in his throat had now evolved into a full-fledged irritation and he knew the sweat he felt on his back and forehead could not entirely be blamed on the heat from the forge.

Instead, Fíli absently toyed with the blade in his hand and then the chisel lying on the workbench. He allowed his thoughts to drift to the stories Thorin had told them ever since they were but dwarflings. He recalled stories of the golden halls of Erebor and the majestic kings of the Durin line and the glorious victories that had accorded them that honour. He himself was part of that line and yet, here he was – not a prince but a prisoner.

More out of frustrated boredom than anything else, he chiselled a pattern into the ugly iron of the knife. It eventually turned out to be his own sigil carved into the hilt of the blade. As an heir of Durin the sigil had been assigned to him from birth and he had always worn it with pride on both his clothes and weapons. It seemed so meaningless now.

Or perhaps not so useless.

Fíli stared at the knife. Kerán had told them that the knives were going to be sold back in the village of Bree. Thorin was not going to return to the village for almost another week and upon finding no message left for him at The Prancing Pony by his nephews, he was surely going to look for them. Perhaps, if he saw a person in the village selling knives, or someone who had bought a knife, with Fíli's – or Kíli's - sigil on it, it might - might - lead him to Kerán and the farm.

Fíli knew it was a very small chance, but he instantly knew he was going to take it. The question now remained: how many blades could make it to the village before Thorin's return?

-000-

Upon relaying his plan to his brother, Kíli had reacted with the same guarded enthusiasm. He too must know that it was an extreme long-shot, but it at least gave them something to work towards – a flicker of hope in their dark situation.

He and Kíli both worked harder than they had ever before – each blade finished was one more spark of hope. Fíli tasked himself with engraving the blades, alternating between his own and Kíli's sigils, taking care to do them as neatly and distinctively as possible. By late afternoon Fíli was aware that he was running a fever and he coughed intermittently. Kíli casted him a few worried looks but did not say anything. Fíli knew it was probably his body's reaction to the change in season, as well as the fact that they were always either too hot when in front of the forge or too cold during the night.

By nightfall they could present five knives to Kerán who seemed more than a little surprised at their sudden vigour for work. Of course, he immediately noticed the carvings on the hilts.

"What are these?" he asked, tilting a knife this way and that to examine the markings.

Fíli was prepared for the question and answered without hesitation. "They are decorative dwarvish ruins for weaponry."

"And why would you put them on my knives?"

Fíli was prepared for that one too. "They will fetch a higher price. Y-you said that we must earn our keep here, so if you make more money off these, then we may have some more… privileges."

"Privileges?" Kerán repeated, raising his eyebrows.

"Yes," Fíli swallowed nervously. "Like more food, more regular. Perhaps a lantern for the evenings, some more bedding and…so on."

Of course they would not mind these things, but Fíli prayed that the man would not discover their true motives. But if the farmer truly believed that they were doing it for more food…

After a moment of silence, during which Fíli's heartbeat had increased rapidly, Kerán finally smiled.

"I have to say I am impressed," he said. "None of the other dwarves even took the initiative."

Fíli did not answer, but he allowed himself to relax slightly.

"My friend Wharin will come fetch these at the end of the week for selling. If he gets a better price for them than usual, you will have your lantern."

"Thank you," Fíli nodded, stifling another cough, and he heard Kíli echo his words from somewhere at the back of the room.

When Kerán left after delivering their slightly upsized dinner that evening, Fíli surrendered himself to a brutal coughing fit that had him leaning against the table for support. Kíli rubbed his back and poured him a cup of water, insisting that he go lie down. After taking a few bites of the food and making Kíli promise that he would wake him if Kerán should return, he complied.

That night Fíli drifted in and out of an uneasy sleep as his sweaty body shivered. It was painful to breathe the cold air down his sore throat and his stuffy nose didn't provide much relief either. He felt Kíli beside him patting his forehead with a cool cloth, but it did little to alleviate the heat building inside him.

When morning came, he felt a little better even though his cough had worsened. It was another day of hard work at the forge, the rhythm of the hammer and the chisel only interrupted by Fíli's violent coughing fits that had him heaving and spitting up phlegm. When Fíli finished the engraving on the third blade, he told Kíli that he was just going to lie down for a few minutes.

He fell into another sweat-soaked fitful sleep accompanied by vivid dreams. He dreamt about the night they were captured and the first time they saw the skeleton lying beneath the table. He dreamt about Kíli, standing in their kitchen back home holding an apple, only to have it shot from his hand by an arrow as he went in for a bite. He dreamt of dragons and fire, but the dragon had the face of a man – the farmer's face – and it had no interest in gold whatsoever. Instead it held screaming and squirming dwarves in its claws, sinking his teeth into them one by one.

Kíli brought him more cups of water at regular intervals, although he usually only managed to splutter it back up during another coughing fit. When he finally gathered enough energy to open his eyes again, he saw it had to be around dusk.

_He had to get up. Kerán would be coming. He can't leave his brother alone with the beast._

His body protested his brain's orders to get up and he dozed off again.

When he woke again, it was to lantern light and there were voices. He was staring up at the ceiling, not able to bring himself to move a muscle or even shift his eyes.

"Fíli?" That was Kíli and he felt a hand clutching his shoulder.

Then there was another hand on his forehead. "He's running a fever." That was the dragon … no, Kerán – it was Kerán, the farmer. "It is infection of the lungs. I've seen it before."

"Can you help him?" That was Kíli again. "You must help him!"

"I'm no healer…"

"But you must send for one! I've never seen him like this. He is really sick." Kíli sounded frightened, his voice high-pitched and pleading.

"You know I can't do that," the farmer responded.

"We have to do something! Don't you have some medicine or healing herbs – anything?"

"Nothing for what he's got."

"Then you must go to town to get some!"

Kerán sighed. "It's after dark. It's not safe."

"Please!"

There was silence for a few moments, then, "Why should I? He's nothing to me."

"He works for you. We both do. And he's everything to me."

"If he dies, I can easily replace him. There are dozens of dwarves asking for work in these parts."

"No! He's my brother – you have to do something. I beg of you!"

Another couple of silent seconds. "Make it worth my while, and I will go to town to get some herbs." It was the dragon again.

"I'll give you what you want." That was Kíli. No.

"Anything? You will give yourself to me willingly?" The dragon.

No hesitation. "Yes. But help him first – go now, please hurry!"

The felt movement beside him and then he heard the smack of a short kiss. "I'll be back soon."

"Just hurry!" And shortly after Fíli heard the door open and close again. Blissful silence once more.

Immediately he felt Kíli beside him, leaning across and placing a heavenly cool hand against his temple. "Hold on. Hold on, help is coming."

It reminded Fíli of a story he had once heard that ended similarly.

_The dragon is coming._

-000-

The slam of the door occurred what felt like seconds later and Fíli felt himself being lifted and a cup pressed to his lips. The steam warmed his nose, but he could not smell anything.

"Fíli? Drink it. It will make you better. I promise."

Fíli didn't want to drink. He wanted to sleep.

"Fíli, please…" Kíli's voice was high-pitched again. It painfully sliced through his foggy mind. It hurt his head. He wanted it to stop. He wanted to sleep. He took a small sip, tasting nothing but warmth. "That's it. More." He took another and another and mercifully, the voice stopped and a hand was on the back of his head, laying him back down again.

The next memory he had was of being lifted up by his armpits again and being propped up against the wall. The cup was at his lips again, and this time he did taste it. It was foul, sharp and earthy, but it at least eased some of the pain in his head. Even through lidded eyes, Fíli could tell it was daytime, but his mind was too tired to think about what that entailed.

Finally, after being endlessly dragged through waves of heat and almost drowning in them, Fíli came to with a mind sharp enough to realize it was night-time again, he needed to use the lavatory, and he was not alone.

He opened his crusted eyelids to see weak lantern light coming from around the corner.

"Kíli?" he asked, but no sound came out besides a wheezing breath. There were noises coming from the room – scuffling, grunting and thumping noises at regular rhythm.

Mustering all his strength he sat up and disentangled himself from the blanket. He wanted to stand up and he drew his legs up, but his head spun when he tried to lift himself, so he settled for supporting himself on his arms and slowly crawling towards the doorway in the direction of the light and the noises.

For a moment, when he peeked around the corner, he could not make sense of what he was seeing. The legs of the table were in the way, but he saw what was unmistakably Kíli on his forearms and knees, face nuzzled into the blanket spread on the floor. Kerán was perched behind him, both arms around Kíli's waist, drawing him in and out of his lap at a languid pace.

Then sickening realization dawned on him.

Fíli quickly retreated back to his corner like the coward he was. He only barely made it there before throwing up tiny pieces of leaves inside a clear sea of bile.

-000-

They didn't talk about it. Not when the keys clinked in the gate and Kíli came to sit with him and not when Kíli eventually drew a blanket over them and took him into his arms. Kíli smelled different, he smelled like Kerán and for the first time Fíli was grateful for his stuffy nose.

When at last Fíli couldn't take it anymore, he crawled from his sleeping brother's embrace and stumbled over to the other side of the forge in the main room. He sat down on the rail and for the first time in decades, he silently wept. He wept for their situation, for the loss of Erebor which had led to it and for having failed at protecting his brother.

When he finally had no more tears left, he just sat staring at the wall where the dwarvish runes were still barely visible on the wall. Apart from the one for water, the others were not discernible at all. However, the last one did look suspiciously like the ancient rune for the direction _downwards_.

Strange, Fíli thought. If someone wanted to indicate down, why wouldn't they just draw an arrow? It would certainly have been easier to understand than the ancient dwarvish runes.

Unless they didn't want just anybody to understand them…

Fíli looked down at the floor in front of the wall. It looked like any other part of the floor – smooth stones puzzled together and compacted with dirt. None of them looked particularly interesting except that one was wet, the spot where the roof leaked during a rainstorm.

_Water_

Fíli drew his hand along the edge of the stone, but it seemed just as sturdily embedded as the rest of them. His chisel was conveniently lying on the counter to the side and Fíli used the sharp edge of the tool to dig in beside the rock, lifting it. When he could get a good grip, Fíli pulled the stone up and out of the floor. The removal of the stone did not reveal more rock, but instead a neatly carved out hole containing a bundle of leather. Fíli could not put the stone down fast enough, and ended up dropping it loudly onto the floor. He reached for the bundle and when he took hold of it he nearly ended up dropping its content as well since it was so smooth, sliding inside the soft leather clasped in his hand. He threw the edges of the cloth open and immediately a brilliant glitter was revealed, throwing shimmering rainbows across the adjacent walls.

It was an opulent, white jewel about the size of Fíli's fist and it was heart-wrenchingly beautiful – it was like someone had captured all the light of the stars and the moon, locking it inside a faceted glass cage for the world to behold. It was so entrancing that, for the briefest of moments, Fíli could forget that his brother was raped and that he himself was sore and sick.

When Fíli could tear his eyes away, he looked at the dusty blanket in the corner holding the skeletal remains of the room's mysterious previous occupant.

_Who was that dwarf?_

TBC


End file.
